Straw into Gold
by Sylphien
Summary: Short extra chapters from the main fan-fic Rumplestiltskin. Includes a prequel, a fan requested chapter and a small afterward to close off the tale.
1. The King of the Goblins

Rumplestiltskin prequel~

I do not own Jareth, the Labyrinth or any of its characters

I think it was **Deer-Shifter** who asked for this one - all yours.

* * *

"You're joking."

"Of course I'm not, see for yourself, it's exactly as I say."

Jareth exercised his patience. Once Arianna had been pleasing to him, he had taken her as a lover thinking that they might form a union one day, but time had undone that attraction. Now he tolerated her, and only because his mother thought that it was important to uphold the connection between families.

"Even as jokes go this is childish, not just love but love with a human?" he drawled.

"It's as I say," she insisted, "See for yourself."

He did her the courtesy of not voicing the first biting reply which came to mind.

_Patience._

"You know just as well as I do that we do not look into our own futures. There's precious little to entertain us as it is, longevity has made our lives stagnant."

"They're not stagnant!" she squealed. "What more could you possibly want? You're from a high ranking family and you've come well into your powers. You are sought for conversation and wisdom, are invited to every function, no matter how grand, and can boast unequalled beauty and attraction among companions."

"Yes," he agreed, "and so it has been for what… eons? Perpetual perfection to some, but there is no challenge, no change… I'm bored." He knew Arianna might still be too young to understand the tedium of eternity, but he was not.

She shot him a venomous look, hearing only personal insult. "Bored? You're bored?" she spat. "Well, sorry that I'm not interesting enough to hold your attention. Luckily you've got this human whimsy in your future to spice things up."

"Enough," he muttered, grinding his teeth, "this is tiresome."

"Fine," she said, raising her head nonchalantly. "If you won't look then I'll show you."

With the flick of her wrist she conjured a crystal from the air, a showy trick she knew he liked to employ, and held it up in front of him. He was framing another pithy reply when his eyes caught the image reflected in the sphere.

A girl with dark hair and dark eyes looked out at him. There was a daring in those eyes, softened by a shadow of thick, sweeping lashes. Her mouth pouted stubbornly, as if irritated that he was denying their supposed future connection. She was just a child though, aglow with the light that all those in the mortal realm possessed, burning bright and short with their lives brevity.

He broke her gaze to turn back to his companion. "This proves what exactly?"

"That's her!" she exclaimed. "Can't you tell that you love her now that you've seen her?"

"Hardly," he answered with an acid tone. "Pretty… by mortal standards, but I can't say it was love at first sight, no. Are you really so surprised? It's a well-known fact that the fae are incapable of love."

She gave him a mulish look. "There are plenty of stories from old times involving fae love, we've just forgotten how to, that's all. Besides, I know what I saw." She chewed her lip thoughtfully. "I don't care if you don't believe me, I don't need you to, if you don't move to avoid the future then you'll see it for yourself soon enough."

Huffily, she pulled her cloak from the hook by the door and tugged it on. She gave him a reproachful look as she fiddled with the clasp. "I'm not staying tonight; I tried to tell you but you didn't believe me, it's your problem now." With that she vanished, slipping through space to leave him alone in his chamber. She left the crystal with the image of the girl behind.

Jareth picked it up casually, tossing it from hand to hand. What a fine joke indeed, falling in love with a_ human_. Not only were the stories of love amongst the fae a ridiculous fantasy but they were also a human concept, his race had long viewed mortals as little more than play things. No magic to speak of, too short a lifespan to obtain any real knowledge, and homely things to look at. There were a multitude of other realms out there which could at least equal their own, if not better it, why make up a story involving a mortal? The whole idea was so far-fetched and unbelievable he couldn't even credit Arianna's imagination for the prank, but at least it had been a worthwhile distraction, despite the annoyance.

So what was her game? A trick to get him to look into his own future, perhaps? Not very subtle in its delivery, he certainly couldn't stomach the idea of a union to someone whose scheming was quite so obvious; he wanted eternity to hold _some_ interest. Dancing the crystal across the back of his hand he watched the maiden inside with a bemused smile. Whoever she was she certainly had an excellent scowl, it was hard not to be envious of mortals for that one thing, the depth of their emotions.

He placed the crystal delicately on his nightstand as he readied himself for bed. He'd be sleeping alone tonight, but it was of little consequence, he had tired of Arianna long ago. He would speak to his mother about her intentions for them tomorrow, honour be damned, he could no longer keep up this pretence, not even for the sake of _her_ ambition.

* * *

"Absolutely not," his mother declared coolly, glaring at him. "There has been an understanding between yourself and Arianna for some time now, her father sits on the High Council. This match is _made, _do you really think to undo all my hard work?"

"Mother," he entreated, "there is no understanding between us; it's been nothing more than a game."

"She thinks of it as more than that."

"You don't know that."

"I do," his mother warned, "she has told you _her name_."

"Yet I never told her mine," he shot back. "If there _is _an understanding it is a misunderstanding. Since I can't lie I'm not going to try to lie to myself. I tried to make this work _for you_, but my endurance is at its limit."

His mother took a step back and observed him quietly for a moment. When she approached again she delicately took his face in her hand, studying him. "Is this about the human girl?"

Jareth laughed, he couldn't help it. The conversation was exasperating enough without adding the element of ridicule. He knew that he would regret his entertainment, especially since his mother was being quiet and sedate, a sure sign that she was actually on the edge of fury. How had that mockery of that rumour already found her ear? How tedious his people were in their intrigue.

"You think this is a fine joke? Will you tie yourself to a being so low that they are beneath our notice?" she grated.

"Something here is certainly a fine joke," he drawled. "Have you lost your wits to believe such blather?"

"This was no idle gossip I overheard," she growled. "Arianna herself told me what she saw in your future."

"She was mistaken."

"She cannot lie."

"I did not say she lied," he snarled, "I said she was _mistaken_."

"Then what about me?" she yelled. "Was I mistaken too?"

Jareth was taken aback by her impassioned reply. It was not anger in her voice, but fear. His mother was never afraid; she was the matriarch of the family and had cowed his father long ago. The woman played her games so deeply it gave him the shivers, she was a force of nature… and she was _afraid_.

He looked to her now for the first time in as long as he could remember, not as an empress of cunning, but his parent. "What?"

She shook her head as she turned away from him, bringing a hand up to her face and taking a shuddering sigh. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, and that, too, was foreign.

"What did you say?" he rasped.

"I looked," she wailed. "I thought to laugh at the silly creature that had brought me such ill tidings. Now you laugh as if it is some grand joke. I _saw_ her, this human girl; we _must_ take measures to alter your future."

Jareth's head spun. The human girl again… the one Arianna had suggested he might love? He had no idea what love was, none of his people did, how could he possibly fall in love with anyone? His mother had seen it, seen this future. How could that be possible?

"You must be mistaken," he whispered.

"How many of us need to see it for you to accept it as truth?"

"But… it's impossible. Perhaps it is merely a well-played game of seduction; you've misunderstood and added emotion where there is none. It's understandable that since love a foreign concept you might-"

"Stop," she commanded, "just stop." She looked very tired. "Do you think I haven't puzzled out every avenue of this? I know what I saw and I know what it is, even if I don't understand it. If you cannot admit to it then you must take a look for yourself."

Jareth felt his panic rising. Look into his future? He couldn't bear the thought of it, knowing everything which was to come for the next millennia. This couldn't be possible though, there was no way he could possibly fall in love. Now he must move to avoid something which was clearly an impossible circumstance?

_Wait…_

He paused thoughtfully. His mother knew how he dreaded the thought of looking into his own future, and this was _his_ mother… a queen of manipulation.

His mother had said she'd seen this human girl, so had Arianna… but neither of them had specifically said they had seen her in _his _future, not in so many words. They had spoken very carefully, if he considered everything they had said, could it not have been crafted to hide a lie?

Suddenly it was obvious to him. His mother knew he would never look into his own future. All she needed to do was suggest he change his future path…

_It's a trap._

He could see the influence behind it all now, his mother conniving to force the union between himself and Arianna. Arianna's father was head of the High Council, and a position on the council had long been coveted by her. They need only claim that he had some dire consequence in his future and promote the change to avoid it through his union with Arianna… oh, _very_ clever indeed. He glared at his mother now, eyes shrewd.

"No," he spat coldly, irate in his understanding. "I don't need to look at anything. Some madness has washed over all of you; either that or you seek to play a game with _your own son_. You will not force me into a union with Arianna no matter what tricks you use."

"I'm not-"

He silenced her with a deadly glare. "To be a part of your machinations is familiar to me, but to have you attempt to deceive me, and with such a ridiculous story, is entirely new. I know I've been little more than a pawn to you for many years now, but I will not move in the direction you dictate any longer. Whatever agreement you have with her father, break it; I will have no further part in this."

He watched his mother's mouth tighten so severely he thought to hear her jaw crack under the pressure.

"I could make you obey me," she warned quietly.

He smiled. "What will you do mother, threaten me? Take some privilege away? Do as you will. Perhaps it will act as an amusement to actually have to make some effort in this life of overindulgence and excess."

Her eyes glittered darkly and her face became cold. "I could use your name."

"Yes," he agreed with an equally malicious smile. "If you remembered it you could, but we both know that's an idle threat which I'll call your bluff on. I've been very careful in watching it drop from your vocabulary over the years; you haven't used it in centuries. I'm confident that it slipped from your memory long ago."

As he turned on his heel to leave the room, happy to make the overture of a dramatic exit rather than the instant magic shift, he stopped only once to speak again.

"Break the agreement with Arianna's father, immediately. No games of yours will make me change my mind."

With that he marched out of his family's home, knowing it would take far more than his displeasure to curb his mother's scheming.

Scheming which he was sure had finally come to a head when he was summoned before the High Council several days later.

As he stood before the entrance of the hearing chamber he paused, he could hear a buzz of voices within, not just the council but an audience. Frowning, he took a steadying breath and lifted the handle of the door.

"Jareth."

His insides jumped at the sound of his own name, it had been many years since he had heard it spoken aloud. Although it had been whispered the impact of it was so great it was as if someone had shouted it from across the room. Still feeling jittery, he turned to see his childhood teacher gesturing to him from just outside the doorway.

The man was the smartest Jareth had ever met, the very thing which had gained him the title of 'wise man' amongst his peers, but he was an odd sight to see on this side of the entrance. He had been Jareth's personal tutor when he was only a child, but had taught him for far longer through the years of their acquaintance. Curious, Jareth looked to the door before him, thinking of the room beyond where this man should be taking his council seat now, and then he turned aside to follow the old man out of the building.

"Kael," he whispered as he approached, remembering his name. They were not friends, the fae did not have such things, but their relationship was as close as they could come to such ideals. He was fond of the man, he trusted his wisdom, and they had traded names to keep confidence between them long ago. Apparently neither of them had yet forgotten. "I thought you'd be inside?"

"I should be," his teacher agreed, brushing silver aged hair from his face.

"What are you doing out here?"

"I came to warn you."

"About this witch-hunt?"

The elderly fae smiled grimly. "Just so, but I don't think you completely understand what's happening," he explained.

Jareth laughed sharply. "I know that my mother is behind this, and my lover. I'm sure she's spun her ridiculous story to the High Council with the intention of forcing my hand into making a pledge, all so she can gain power with them. They're not fools though; they'll see through the scheme, the story is complete madness."

Kael let out an aggrieved sigh. "Then I was right, you don't understand."

Jareth cocked an eyebrow curiously, wondering what he could possibly mean. "What are you talking about, what is it? Is there more to this?"

The old man gave him a long, searching look before coming to a decision. Jareth could see from the determined lines in his face that he wouldn't enjoy the explanation.

"I don't know about your mother's role in this. In general, of course, I understand that she is a force to be reckoned with, but I'm not sure that she is involved with this matter."

Jareth frowned, wondering how his mother had fooled Kael also. Of course she was behind this, who else could it be? Arianna? He simply couldn't credit her with the intelligence.

"It is a mad story," Kael continued, carefully. "Ridiculous even, and a complete anathema to the high council… it's also all true."

Jareth stood for a moment, totally at a loss, wondering if he'd managed to mishear the old man. "What?"

"The story is true."

"You're lying."

"You know that's impossible."

"So is this absurd story," Jareth yelled. "Besides," he paused, realising he'd been deceived again. "I think we both know that it's not impossible if you phrase it _just so_. My mother has coached you very well." He could feel a cold fury burning in his veins. "On that note, what exactly has she promised you for duping me in this way?" he growled. "Have you told her my name as well?"

He felt singularly betrayed. This was the only man he'd ever placed trust in, the only other fae he had told his name since he'd become sensible of what that knowledge could incur. Now he was simply another piece in his mother's great plan.

Kael inhaled deeply and looked right into Jareth's eyes. "I understand your disbelief, but time grows short."

Jareth snorted rudely.

"Very well then," sighed the old man. "I will leave you no room for doubt and force your acceptance. Listen closely. I have looked into your future, Jareth, and I have seen that you are going to fall in love with a mortal girl, what they have been telling you is true."

It knocked the wind out of him.

It was so direct and brutal that his mind fought to find an excuse within it, a clause to escape that honesty. Each path of possibility closed itself off quickly, until soon there was no uncertainty left, only truth. What Kael was telling him, what they had all been telling him, was true. He was destined to fall in love with a mortal girl, just as they had warned. The truth was stranger than the excuses he'd found to cover it up. His mother's plot was actually something he had created, a defence against this bizarre future.

"That's… a lie," he choked out.

Kael placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. "You know that's not possible. I'm sorry I had to tell you so directly but you were right about what's awaiting you inside, it is a witch-hunt, but not for the reasons you thought."

"How can I-"

"Calm down," advised Kael, tightening his grip. "Don't think about the cause of this; just think about the solution for now. You can't stay out here for long, they're expecting you inside… and me for that matter, but you need to think about what you're going to do next. The council think the very notion of a human connection is an abomination, fae and human blood mixed, they abhor the idea. If you persist with this future… it will mean exile."

Jareth felt like the world was gradually dropping out from beneath him. "Exile?" he echoed. "But I haven't even done anything yet, I haven't made any decisions. I'm not in love with anyone!"

"I know," agreed Kael, "I know all of this; which is why it can still be changed. They will press you to accept your current partner as a means to an end, to circumvent this unacceptable future. They mean to back you into a corner, which is why I say that although I do not think your mother has had the involvement you suppose, perhaps she has had some small hand in this. She will certainly gain what she wants of it." He shook Jareth's shoulder to ensure he was paying attention.

"I knew that if you were still doubtful about the prediction you would be pushed into something questionable while you were still recovering from the shock of it; this is why I came to warn you beforehand. You have a chance now, think of an alternative, make your own plans to sidestep the future, it's either that or embrace it."

Jareth still felt dazed, how could this be happening? Banishment? Love? Human partnership? Impossible.

Kael had given him an opportunity to save himself from this insane predicament, but he still couldn't accept the situation itself. Now he was to be faced with either an impossible future with a mortal girl, which everyone insisted _was _possible, or a forced union to Arianna.

Groping to make sense of it, Jareth glanced up at Kael. He had left his council seat inside just to deliver this warning, no doubt it had cost him something to do this much.

"You have risked much in coming to tell me this," said Jareth, still reeling with shock. "I… I thank you for your warning."

Kael nodded slowly, surreptitiously glancing around to ensure they were still alone. "I must go now, Jareth, but know that whatever decision you make, I will help you. You have my support."

Jareth blinked in confusion as Kael disappeared in front of him. What could he possibly mean by that, what decision? There was no decision to be made here, only one more trick to ensure his continued freedom. Still, he was touched by this act of devotion. Largely the fae were selfish beings, they could not seek help from others without being perceived as weak, not even from their own families.

A thousand things ran through his head as he slowly walked back to the hearing hall doorway. He would fall in love with a human, how? How could that be possible? Who was she? The face of the girl frozen in crystal came back to him. Her head lifted proudly, a courageous glint in her eye. In an unchanged future she would be his partner and he would know what it was to love her.

He shook his head to dislodge such ridiculous thoughts. That future would never be, nor would he pledge himself to Arianna. Perhaps there was a plot here concocted by her and his mother, perhaps it was only coincidence, he would still not grant them what they wished for. He would not give up his freedom so easily.

With a grim smile he opened the hearing chamber door, a plan falling neatly into place behind his lidded eyes.

The noise in the room stopped immediately, hundreds of eyes turning to him as one. As he made his way to the hearing podium in the centre of the room, his stride faltered briefly as his gaze fell on Kael.

The High Council seats were always arranged by prominence; Kael had always been seated close to the head of the most distinguished members. Now he was in the lowest seat, far lower than a man of his age or wisdom should ever sit without it being intended as an insult. Jareth knew now that this was the price he had paid. The sacrifice required for the time to warn his student had been his position within the council. Jareth ground his teeth angrily, it would not be forgotten.

Whispering amongst the spectators began as soon as he stepped up to the podium, taking his place before the seated council members. The highest tier member, Arianna's father, gave him an inadequate smile.

"Do you know why you've been called here?"

Jareth smiled dangerously. "Yes," he drawled, dusting imaginary dirt from his shoulder. "I hear there are some issues regarding my future interludes with a mortal."

His answer stopped the chairman cold; obviously he had expected to catch Jareth unaware, at least at first. Jareth watched the poisonous glare the chairman shot at Kael as his fake smile transformed into a glower.

There would be no rude revealing of his future here, he would not be put on the spot before the court and its entire people, and he had Kael to thank for that.

Arianna's father sneered. "The council forbid this union of fae and… _human_," he spat the last word. "If you persist on this current path then you will be-"

"Exiled, yes," Jareth interrupted, unperturbed. He gave the council a bored look. "Is that everything?"

Arianna's father was easily riled; he looked almost apoplectic as Jareth casually dismissed the punishment. "Exile is a more fearful punishment than you understand if you think to make light of it," he snarled. "The Labyrinth realm is a place of frugal pleasures. The native inhabitants, the goblins, will offer you no solace with their presence. They are stupid creatures, with little intelligence and no hierarchy to speak of. The Labyrinth is a dumping ground for all the powerful realms, a place for criminals. It is contaminated with the thieves and blasphemers of many races, stripped of magic and abandoned."

Jareth inclined his head lazily. "And this will be my punishment? To be magically disabled in a realm full of villains? Tragic." From the corner of his eye he caught sight of his mother and father sitting in one of the side rows and turned slightly to avoid the view. He didn't need the distraction, as much as he'd enjoy the opportunity to examine mother and uncover how much involvement she'd had in this hearing, there were more important matters at hand.

Arianna's father scowled. "No, your punishment is far worse than that. You will be _bonded _to the Labyrinth, unable to leave that realm and return here, only granted access to the mortals you so love. You can keep your magic, what better than an eternity of looking backwards and forwards at your own suffering and misery? Like you, your powers will be tied to the Labyrinth realm; any petty magic you use will require sacrifice and all wishes will have a price. The payment is a pittance, however, since it is a broken realm." The chairman looked pleased with his uninviting foretelling.

Jareth yawned openly. "Yes, it certainly doesn't sound like a tourist destination. Are we getting to the bit when you offer me an alternative yet?"

Sparks shot between himself and the High Council chairman. The angry fae's nostrils flared with outrage at Jareth's unanticipated demeanour.

"You think to mock me?" he growled. "Do you understand the disgrace you are accused of? We have seen this vile _joining_, a muddying of the fae line. Have you yourself seen your degradation as we have?"

Jareth paused, momentarily taken aback. He hadn't.

Theoretically by now everyone in the court must have seen it, anything to fight against tedium, and this was certainly news. Suddenly his plans were put aside; the great reveal of his cunning was temporarily on hold. For the first time since so many had insisted her seek his own future, he did.

It did not come easily at first, an immortal lifetime worth of adherence to unspoken rules was not so easily undone. When it did start it began in flashes of colour, and then pictures: the sky, a room full of gold, a child, a book.

He saw himself, laughing. Not bitterly as he was accustomed to, not with malice, but openly and full of joy. He saw her face again, that pretty dark haired girl. Expressive eyes drinking him in, the spark of her anger, the bloom of her lips into a smile. Sometimes she was laughing too, sometimes she looked furious. He saw them dancing together, arguing, kissing; all in brief flashes which took his breath away.

At one point he could smell her, a faint trace of sunshine and wildflowers. He heard her whisper his name, but not with the intent to order something of him, like a prayer, as if it was a precious gift simply to speak it. Then he could feel her in his arms, her hand coming up to nestle against the back of his neck, she was a fragile creature. There was a feeling that was more than all that though, not just touch, but something _other_. It made his chest ache, it was powerful and wonderful and terrifying all at once, and completely unknown. He knew in that moment that this sense of other was the thing that the council had feared more than anything.

Gradually, he pulled back, and it was like tearing himself in half. He knew that he would never be able to look again. If he did he had no confidence that he would be able to pull himself away a second time. As he came back to himself, his dark haired beauty slipping from him with that feeling of otherness, once again he stood in the hearing chamber before the council. He was breathing heavily as he leaned on the podium, and everything was different.

Arianna's father, who had not noticed his inattention, had continued on with the trial.

"-If you will form a union within the community then this punishment can be overcome. I understand that there is already a spoken agreement between you and one of the young ladies in the court-"

_Arianna._

His eyes did not seek her out, however. Instead he looked to the lowly position Kael had been relegated to. He was the wisest man he had ever known, and a look of understanding passed between them.

He was still shaken by his encounter, overcome with the fading feeling of all that he had just experienced in a few heart beats. That same heart thundered in his chest as blood pounded loudly in his ears.

He looked at the sea of court faces before him. None of them had looked into his future and seen what he had. His parents sat to one side, their faces masks of indifference like those surrounding them. He could draw no clue from his mother's countenance as to whether she had played some part in today's events, but he remembered how she had been afraid.

He felt sorry for her in that moment. That something so alien had brushed against her mind and left her trembling despite the fact that she was such a strong woman.

All he had felt was exhilaration, his body tight with the excitement of this new thing, this unknown element which was for him alone. That soft, delicate girl who was like a fire: equally warmth and scolding at once.

He realised then that he had never truly wanted for anything in his life, everything had been provided for him before he realised there was a lack. But he knew that he wanted her, that dark haired girl who was like fire. He wanted the feeling that had been a part of her, that otherness, and he knew he would do anything to have it.

Nothing they could say would stop him.

"-perhaps if my daughter were to say a few words," droned Arianna's father. He was still unaware that the whole world had just changed, that this realm was now too small to contain Jareth. This life would now never be enough.

"That's not necessary," croaked Jareth, interrupting the man.

The High Council exchanged looks, clearly pleased that he had seen sense so quickly. Only Kael remained unmoved.

Jareth smiled at them, knowing they would never understand. "I choose exile."

The roar of voices in the hearing room was tremendous: outrage, shock, fear, disbelief. The council themselves were all so flabbergasted they simply stared at him, mouths hanging open. The court spectators yelled, gasped and spoke all at once. The chaos was enormous; everyone was rocked by the weight of his decision, unable to believe he was serious, waiting for a punch line. Everyone but a single fae, Kael.

"So you choose the human girl?" he asked quietly.

Jareth knew that he was the only one who had seen and properly understood his future, why that otherness was so important. "She is mine," he said. "By right of destiny and my future, I will not give her up."

He thought he could hear shrieking, Arianna perhaps, or his mother, it didn't matter.

The council chairman glared at him with open hostility, finally finding his voice. "You dare to go against us?" he blustered. "To give up your own bloodlines, to-"

Jareth held up his hand for silence and received it. The room fell into a shocked awe at his motion; he too was now as alien to them as that otherness. He was no longer like them, and he no longer had a place here.

"I am not I fae anymore," he shouted, feeling the restrictions of his life finally fall away. "I give up that heritage, that blood. From today forth I will become a villain, a lord of villains. The most powerful of them all if what you say is correct. I will take my rightful place in the Labyrinth realm; I will be the master of that land. I will lead criminals and outcasts, those who have been disposed of by their bitter homes, and I will take any with me who choose to make that their future." He smiled at his enamoured audience, sharp teeth catching the light. "There is more to forever than the shackles of court and dangerous whispers. Unlike you I will never be bored again; I will never fear the tedium of eternity." He took one last look at a court filled with faces lacking passion, and remembered that precious human girl who was full of life. "In a land filled with goblins, I will become a Goblin King."


	2. On the subject of goblins

**StakeMeSpike04 - **This one is for you, thanks for review number 200 (or thereabouts)

* * *

_"Jareth, I wish that you would take this child away... right now."_

He stood in the throne room of his castle, holding the babe in his arms. The downy blanket covering the child was lumpy with the uneven placement of the feather stuffing inside.

_Jareth._

He had taken the child. There had been no choice. Fae names were a compulsion, there was no denying them.

Now he was back in the Labyrinth, holding the babe loosely, as if it were a wild thing that would not hesitate to destroy him should he give it a chance. It would not get that opportunity though; there was nothing left of him to destroy, there was nothing left of Jareth.

Jareth was just a name to be commanded and controlled, he would give it up, shrug it off forever. He would be the Goblin King only, master of the Labyrinth, villain, child stealer and adversary. Perhaps there had been another once; someone called Jareth, but no longer. That being had known hope, it had dreamed, it had seen a future which would never be, but that was all destroyed now and so only the memory of a name remained.

Not for her though, never for her. That memory was picked clean the moment she made a wish filled with forgetting to salve her conscience of its true purpose.

Serra. Her name was ashes in his mouth.

He still felt the tug of her ring, a bond which would last until forever. Half magic, half belief, and now only he was aware of it. To her it would always be an imagined thing, she did not wear it on her own finger, she would only feel the subtle pull of it in her mind. She would have no knowledge of what that silent pull was.

He was not angry, or sad, or anything. Like emotions washed clean, he was a grey nothingness… no, not nothingness, a Goblin King.

What was a Goblin King though? What did it do? How did it feel?

He looked down at the baby in his hands which was happily sucking on its fingers.

Was this the Goblin King? Taker of children, nightmare. To what end, what purpose?

"Jareth."

The name set his teeth on edge; he shuddered at the sound of it. Why was it being spoken? It didn't exist anymore, he had abolished it.

"Jareth."

"WHAT!?" He roared, setting the child off screaming. Kael stood before him, not the strong fae he once had been, wizened, crooked. It had been this way since they had come to this accursed place, everything twisted and broken under his influence.

He glared at his oldest companion, a bright look of madness in his eyes. "Never use that name again." He warned. "Forget it. That person no longer exists, he is dead, murdered." He laughed ironically, wondering if he was the killer or if it had been the soft creature he had always longed for. "Never speak it again or you will be murdered too."

Kael looked him over with worry as the child continued to cry in his arms. "Why is there a human child here?"

"This?" asked the Goblin King, glancing down at the babe. "Why, it's a present, a reward for all of my hard work. Not a child at all, actually, give it a day, a week, it will become something else, just as you all have. A goblin perhaps, something that scuttles and hides in the shadows. The Labyrinth, I, will twist it until it is unrecognisable."

"You're clearly not well," the old man frowned. "Jareth, what has-"

The Goblin King wrapped one hand around the elderly faes throat in seconds, balancing the babe in his other. "You are bad at taking instructions, it seems. I am the Goblin King. I have given you a command, wise man, that other name is to be forgotten, try to stay true to your own in obeying me. No one is to speak that name ever again, on pain of death."

The old man gurgled and nodded as he clutched at the hand around his throat.

"Better," said the Goblin King. "We have an understanding then." He gave the child on his arm a distasteful look and proffered it to the wise man. "Take this, I tire of it. Put it somewhere out of my sight and hearing, feed it to something, I don't much care. Just take care of it."

As he handed the child over, the wise man wrapped it carefully in its feathered quilt again. "What is the child's name?" he asked.

The Goblin King paused. "It has no name, none of us do anymore." With that he marched from the throne room. He could feel the cold beginnings of his fury and held them in check. What was there to be angry about? He was king; there was nothing he couldn't have. He had everything, didn't he?

He stormed across the gardens, watching them wilt around him as he walked, and came to a stop at the archway between worlds. This was the passage, the way to pass from one realm to another, and he stared it down as if he could command it with the sheer force of his will. He stepped through the arch to the other side and then back again, running his hand across the stone which formed the curve. He stretched his magic across the space, feeling the rush of air that preceded it. He strained as he tried again to cross a barrier that only led him further into the gardens, feeling not only the seal placed over it, but the subtle pull of his ring.

Then he screamed.

He fell to his knees screaming, ripping at his hair and hearing his own voice break under the force of his despair. He could feel waves of cold rolling over him, icing up the ground around him as he clutched his head in his hands. The shrieks he made gathered, opaque in the cold air, crystallising and shattering around him. Their shards coiled into dark, pointed things which burrowed into the earth and spread like a sickness around him.

It didn't matter if his eyes were open or closed, he could see her. That dark haired girl, her eyes alive with secrets. She was laughing in the sunshine somewhere far away from the shadows of this place. She always would be.

He tried to grasp for even the memory of her, a glimpse in a crystal, a unknown feeling. It was all soured. Now there was only her mouth speaking a name which no longer existed, commanding, taking his last thread of decency. Everything that he had given up was discarded in vain; all he had sacrificed was for naught. He would never have that dream again.

As he screamed anew he felt the tears on his cheeks frost over as he fell to the ground, wondering if he would ever be able to get up again. Not knowing why he should even try, until finally the gathering darkness swept over him like a blanket, and he slept.

He did not know how long he slept for. Long enough to dull the edge of his rage and despair so that he could continue to breathe in and out, could stand, walk; and so walk he did. He wandered through the Labyrinth and they were strangers to one another. The Labyrinth was dead. Everything was blackened and scorched; the earth was barren, buildings stood empty.

He looked for company but found none, but he could sense that he was not alone in the desolation. With deliberate steps he made his way back to the castle, not knowing why he was drawn to do so. Was it because he was the king? More likely it was because there was nowhere else to go, nowhere to belong, and nothing to belong to.

The goblins still thrived, an army of them skittering about his feet as he entered his chambers. There he found his bed and slept again, ignoring the gnarled faces which had followed and watched him.

They were still there when he woke again, bright, beady eyes intent on his progress through the castle. Although the dark place seemed solemn and foreboding they skipped and sang, giggling to themselves and whispering as they went. He wasn't quite sure what to make of them. Sometimes he trod on them, sometimes he kicked them in his haste, but nothing seemed to upset them. It was only after he took his seat in the throne room for the first time that he finally heard them speak aloud to him.

"King!" yelled one.

"Kingy king!" yelled a second. Then the room was a roar of voices calling out to him and proclaiming him the ruler of the castle.

He gave them an amused smile, one he hadn't known he still had in him, and wondered what it was exactly they wanted from him.

Time passed like that. Some days were slow, some quicker. The goblins were his constant companions, always seemingly waiting for him when he woke, following him right up until he was closing his bedroom door on them at night.

There was little change to the constancy of his routine in the years that followed. Sometimes he would read, on rare occasions he would read aloud to the troop, but it would usually put them to sleep. He watched as they played games, refusing to partake. They were always very simple competitions, and someone always cheated or forgot the rules. On very rare occasions he would talk to them, telling them about some of the things that had happened to him before and since he become king of the Labyrinth. He doubted that they understood the complexity of it, but if he said 'king' then it would be chorused back at him with excitement, so he unconsciously found ways to slip it into the telling as often as possible. As time passed he began to heal a little bit, and so too did the Labyrinth.

Until one day, as he was telling his story, there was a new word for the goblins.

"Serra!" shouted a little goblin.

The Goblin King stopped, unnerved. He didn't know quite what to do. A part of him was furious, awash with dark memories of the past. Another, smaller part of him, was not. That part hesitated, this was a new word for the goblins, and somehow he couldn't quite bring himself to discourage them.

The new word persisted until he became used to hearing it and it no longer seemed to grate on him as it once had.

It was not the end of their learning. As years passed more discoveries were made.

"Pretty!"

The goblins loved this new word; everything was pretty to them after that. The Goblin King leered at their antics as they ran about the room declaring everything in it pretty. He was quite enjoying their slow growth.

"King pretty!" screeched one of them.

"Yes," he agreed with a smirk. "Well done."

They all turned to him with adoring eyes, excited by what they instantly recognised as a compliment. They might be stupid, but there was a certain keen intelligence to them sometimes.

Another daring goblin stepped up proudly. "Serra pretty!" it called.

The room went cold.

He tried to regulate his breathing. They only knew three words, it was the obvious progression of things. They were simply looking for more praise from him. He ground his teeth, trying to contain the boiling anger that simmered just beneath the surface. This was the one place he belonged, these were his subjects, he must be patient.

One of the goblins tugged his sleeve. "Serra pretty?"

His nostrils flared as he summoned a crystal, hurling it across the room to shatter into thousands of pieces against the wall. After that they were all silent again, looking up at him reproachfully. The fun of their new word had been ruined.

He soon realised, however, that they were stubborn in their stupidity. The days that followed were no better despite his warning.

"Serra pretty?" asked a little goblin who had clambered up onto the arm of his throne, hoping for praise. It continued to stare at him with inquisitive eyes.

Defeated, he fell back in the chair, covering his face with his hand. There would be no end to this; their vocabulary was too confined to let this go so easily. "See for yourself," he finally growled, giving in to them. At least three of them ducked when he summoned another crystal, but this time, instead of destroying it, he tossed it to the floor where they could gather around it.

He hadn't planned to look himself. Yet somehow listening to their combined gasps and giggles was worse than not looking. Uncovering his eyes for a moment he glanced down into the face of the lovely girl who was smiling to herself with barely contained joy.

Her story unfolded before him. There had been a second child. The king had died shortly before the birth of the little girl and left Serra was alone and bereft. She had clung to the girl child in her loneliness, and this time a bond had formed between them. Love. The Goblin King knew what he saw there, she had finally found love. The thing that she had denied him, telling him she would find it long before he ever did, and it was true, she had.

He started to laugh then, hysterically, and the goblin watched on with curious eyes.

"Oh, ding dong the king is dead" he spat. Perhaps without that she never would have found that fleeting emotion, he preferred the thought of her chained to her enthralled husband for her entire life.

"King?" called the goblins as one.

"Get out of my way you imbeciles," he roared, flinging them aside. He stormed to his room, nearly tearing the door from its hinges as he slammed it shut. He sealed it with magic just to ensure that none of them could sneak in.

She had found happiness and now all he wanted to do was rip it from her hands, but this was the one thing he could not do. She was long dead now; the crystal had contained nothing but a shadow of her memory. If only he could have taken_ that_ child from her, watched as she suffered when everything important was ripped from her. Every day he heard the hum of wishes in that vein, parents wishing away children, but she had never done so a second time, he was sure of that. It was only now that he realised he was desperate for a vengeance that would forever be denied to him. Thwarted by the brevity of human life and her command against him to do no harm.

He did not leave the bedroom chamber for days after that, eaten up by his own anger and regret. The only thing which kept the goblins out was the bespelled room. He could hear them outside for the first few days, calling to him. Their chorus of 'king' repeated over and over again until he had to block his ears with a pillow. By the third day they had picked up their newest word, the one he had left them with at their last parting.

"Dead," they wailed. "King dead!"

He had no idea of whether or not they even knew what the word meant. Days later, when it started to be accompanied by the sounds of the bawling and hysteria, he suspected they might. It was only then that he finally relented and opened the door.

"I'm not dead," he drawled tiredly. It was all very well to spell them intosilence when he was awake, but if the spell wore off while he was sleeping they soon saw to it that the slumber wouldn't last. It was only when he looked down into their wet snivelling faces that he began to laugh, exhausted and half out of his wits.

"King," they moaned as one, each of them pushing one another away for a chance to clutch onto his leg in turn. They were ridiculous, but he couldn't help but find it funny that they seemed to have become so attached to him.

"Okay, okay," he muttered. "King's here. What am I going to do with you lot?"

One of the more aggrieved goblins would not let go of his foot, no matter how hard he shook it. As he walked down the corridor to the throne room, trying hard not to step on it quite as often as he seemed to, he heard it squeak out a question.

"Serra dead?"

He paused in the corridor, standing still for a long time before he could more forward again.

"Yes, she's dead," he said quietly.

All of the goblins nodded in agreement, solemn looks on their faces.

That was the end of the story he had to tell them, there was nothing more to share after that. He realised soon after that there really wasn't much to do inside of the castle, reading was only a good pastime when he truly needed a rest from the goblins, and usually he found that although their antics were tiring, they weren't overly annoying.

He started to walk the Labyrinth again; sometimes he found things growing in amongst dilapidated structures. From time to time he would come across creatures which weren't goblins in the ruins, once he even saw an old man with a bird on his head, which filled him with an odd sense of nostalgia.

The Labyrinth was alive, he could feel it stretched out around him, still hurting and deeply scarred, but alive. On days when it was raining he would watch the world outside in his crystals, the goblins especially enjoyed this. Sometimes, when he was alone, he would look backwards, watching Serra's life play out in its entirety after he had left it. She was gone from that world now, but pieces of her remained, the ring, and a book.

It was the first time in centuries that he had stepped from the Labyrinth and into the mortal realm when he went to seek that book out. It was the title that interested him, _The Labyrinth_.

He was not sure if she had written it as a story for her daughter or for other children. Perhaps she was simply compelled to do so by the remnants of the connection between them, an unconscious presence which would not be denied and fragments of memory lonf forgotten. It was a story of the Labyrinth, as he had suspected, and its enigmatic Goblin King. He was cast as the villain, wish granter, child stealer and eventually the defeated adversary. A familiar story, their story, almost.

The goblins loved it when he read it to them, it was the first time they had not fallen asleep during a book. They cheered each time the king made an appearance, booed when he was eventually beaten, and then harassed him until he read it again.

He started to watch the humans more closely after that, finding interest in them. He looked for the ones with the strongest wishes, observing them and their reasoning. He always came back to the parents wishing away their children. The mortal realm was often a tragic place, sometimes these wishes were innocent and sometimes they were not. There were beaten children, mistreated, starved and worse. The pattern was often there though, a connection between wish and violent action. He could look forward to see how it would eventuate, how a wished away child might one day suffer all of those terrible things.

It was one day, while he was looking forward at one such child, that one of the goblins pointed at the crystal reflection.

"King steal," it declared.

The Goblin King blinked, thinking for a moment that he was being accused of stealing his own crystal, he knew they were rather attached to them.

"King go steal," the goblin insisted.

He frowned, looking into his own crystal. "The infant?"

"Infant!" it yelled, triumphantly.

"Infant!" was the excited response from the others.

The Goblin King scratched his head. "No, I don't think so."

Some of them started jumping up and down, one of them ran to get their favourite book, _The Labyrinth_, and started waving it about. "King steal!" they insisted noisily. Clearly they had decided he needed to take on the role of their favourite villain since he was so obviously modelled for the part.

With a flick of his wrist he silenced them magically; there was no stopping them when they got like that. Once the book came out all bets were off. He closed his eyes to escape the accusation in theirs. In the palm of his hand he could still feel the solid presence of the crystal, waiting.

Ignoring his silenced audience he lifted an eyelid just a fraction, peering into it once more, curious. A wish would be made and, when it was not granted, there would be pain and eventually death. He frowned; humans were certainly a brutal race. Rubbing his mouth he looked down at the forcibly well-behaved goblins.

"Do you really think the infant will be better off here?"

One of the goblins opened its mouth, but when no sound came out it started nodding. Soon they were all nodding in unison.

He stood, pacing back and forwards, and glanced into the crystal once more. "Well, you are my subjects," he muttered, looking down into the pleading eyes of hundreds of goblins. Thoughtfully he removed the silencing spell, watching little grins break out on their faces.

"Fine then," he said. "I don't see why not."

It was a sad day when one of the little critters left the book behind on just such an outing, but it was the start of another story entirely for them all.


	3. The owl and the pussycat

Lets close this all off on a sweet note, shall we?

* * *

Irene smiled softly down at where her son was colouring on the sitting room floor. He was laying on his stomach poring over his creation, a rainbow of crayons scattered around his bold scribbles.

He was such a sweet boy. She had been so worried when he had asked her what time Robert was coming home from his gamblers anonymous meeting.

_How does he know about that?_

Sometimes there was a secret sort of wisdom in his childlike eyes, and even though they'd tried to keep this from him he'd still managed to figure it out somehow. It had frightened her after all that had happened, she worried the pressure from it would hurt him while he was still recovering from the problems he'd had earlier in the year.

He had adjusted to the idea before she'd even admitted it existed.

"Dad's going to be fine mum," he had told her, "he just needs us to look after him.

She had hugged him tightly after that. He was too small to really understand, yet it made her preconception of Robert's condition seem like an overreaction. Her husband needed her help, support and understanding, and her son had realised all of this before she had come to accept it herself. They needed to stand strong as a family.

_He's growing up_, she realised, and it made her heart ache a little to think of him losing the innocence of childhood and stepping out to face the world. He wouldn't be alone though, never alone, no matter what she'd always be there for him, she was his mother.

"What are you drawing there sweetie?" she asked, brushing back his pale blonde, wispy mane. It was getting a bit long now; perhaps she needed to give it a trim?

He turned his gap toothed smile on her, his crayon paused mid motion.

"It's the owl and the pussycat," he grinned.

Irene leant down to admire the brightly coloured doodles. A bird and a cat, no, an owl and a pussycat; Toby had drawn them balanced on top of a crooked looking rectangle.

"Is that their pea green boat?" she asked.

"This is the castle they live in," he said excitedly, "it's really big, isn't it?"

"It sure is," she agreed with a bemused smile.

"Sarah really likes it there," he said, smiling tenderly.

Irene took a sharp breath.

_Sarah._

It had been a long time since he'd talked about Sarah; she felt her hands shake nervously. The doctors had said it was normal, lots of children had imaginary friends, but they hadn't seen her son. Sarah hadn't been just an imaginary friend to him; she had been his sister. It might have been harmless if he hadn't been so absolutely distraught about the notion of her, his sister, who was missing but that only he could remember. Lots of people had tried to explain to him that he was an only child, but he didn't seem to be able to accept that Sarah was just a figment of his imagination. Irene had wrung her hands listening to him up at night calling for her, crying and yelling out for Sarah in his sleep.

She hadn't known what to do when he started to withdraw completely, she had thought she'd have to take him to see a psychiatrist, but she couldn't stand the thought of him needing therapy and drugs just to be a normal little boy again, he was her little baby. Then one day, just as quickly as he'd started up his fantasy about a lost sister, he seemed to be fine again. He'd come out to breakfast one morning with a big smile on his face, no bags under his eyes, no tear tracks down his cheeks. After that day he had never mentioned Sarah again.

Irene swallowed heavily. "So Sarah lives there too, does she?" she heard herself ask, her voice unsteady.

Her son looked up at her carefully, as if studying her expression for a hint of understanding. A sharp intelligence glittered in his eyes, accompanied by an overly contrite smile. He pointed to the cat in his picture.

"Sarah," he said, finally.

"Ah," sighed Irene, flattening her hand over her chest where her heart was beating erratically. "The pussycats name is Sarah?"

"Yep," he sniffed, scratching his crayon against the page and looking down at his picture again.

Of course, it was just a name after all. Perhaps this was his way of coming to terms with whatever distress had caused him to create his 'Sarah' in the first place. Perhaps this was just a way of healing. Thank goodness, he wasn't regressing back into that frightened little boy.

Irene smiled encouragingly. "What is the owls name?" she asked.

Her son continued to colour, not looking up at her.

"That's the Goblin King," he said.

Irene frowned. This was the owl and the pussycat, wasn't it? Why was there suddenly a goblin king involved?

"No, the owl;" she said, pointing to the feathered creature in his picture, "what's his name sweety?"

Toby looked up at her with a mulish pout. "It's a secret," he mumbled.

"Okay, okay," she smiled, flattening down his silky hair. So the owl didn't have a name, it hardly mattered, she had thought it might be Toby. "Well what's this that you're drawing in between them?" she asked, watching her son scribble a tiny object in the rectangle between the two. "Oh, I know, is it the moon?"

"Mu-uuuum" he moaned, "it's not the moon it's their _baby_." He rolled his eyes as if this should be obvious.

"But the owl and the pussycat didn't have a baby in the story," she told him. She nearly bit her own guilty tongue, who was she to tell him how the story should go? Robert often told her she was too concrete in her logic, she didn't want to stifle her sons creativity; he was only nine after all.

Toby placed the finishing touches on his picture, she could see that the object tucked between the owl and the pussycat did look a little bit like a tiny infant.

As he put down his crayon he smiled mysteriously up at his mother. "They do in this story," he said.


End file.
